Lens Cap
by elev
Summary: Shaw helps Elizabeth Ruben cope with her crippling fear of the dark using a silken blindfold and patient intimacy. Fluffy, snarky, and smutty. Shaw/Elizabeth. Some power play, roleplaying, and switching (roles). Complete! A tie-in to the Protocols universe, and probably will fit neatly with Feature Creep when the main story catches up.
1. Chapter 1

#####

Shaw takes the turn hard enough to throw Elizabeth against the door. Tires squealing against the wet asphalt, the car begins to skid, but Shaw somehow manages stay in control, and they _almost_ miss the lightpost. Elizabeth yelps as the passenger-side mirror is shorn off just inches from her arm with a startling _snap_.

The black van in pursuit isn't so lucky. Maybe the driver isn't as experienced as Shaw, or maybe the vehicle just doesn't handle as well in the rain. There's a long, drawn-out squeal and then a loud _crunch_. Elizabeth, who looks even paler than usual, dares to turn around and look out the rain-specked back window.

"Looks like they hit the pole," she says shakily. "I don't think they're going to be following us."

Shaw smirks. "Good thing they drive as well as they shoot," she says, right before she slows abruptly and turns onto the next side street at a more reasonable speed. She drives straight for two blocks, then turns again.

"You okay?" Shaw says to Elizabeth. She spares a glance at her passenger: Elizabeth still looks like a ghost, like freckled alabaster, and Shaw hopes she isn't going to throw up or something. But Elizabeth takes a deep breath and says, "Yeah, that was, uh—interesting."

"That's a way to put it." Shaw reaches up to her ear and taps the earpiece. "Hey, Finch?" she says. "We lost them. Get us a new car to be safe."

"Two blocks forward, three blocks left," Finch says. "A black BMW is waiting on the 2nd level of the parking garage. And might I add, Miss Shaw, your driving skills are impeccable as always."

"Thanks," Shaw says.

Five minutes later, Shaw pulls their borrowed and now slightly dented vehicle into a parking space next to a sleek sports car. They get out. Elizabeth stumbles on wobbly legs.

"You drive crazier than my mother," she says when Shaw comes around the car to join her. "I feel like I should be kissing the ground."

"Maybe you should kiss the driver instead for getting us out of that mess," Shaw says.

Elizabeth snickers. Her cheeks are staring to get rosy again and a grin flickers across her freckled face. "Maybe later. Where are we going now?"

"Uh," Shaw says. A moment later, Finch's voice crackles in her ear again; Shaw holds up a finger to indicate this to Elizabeth.

"I suggest you and Miss Ruben proceed to the nearest of our properties," Finch says. "Maintaining a low profile would be advantageous, considering that your reckless driving has attracted the attention of the cartel _and_ the police."

"My 'reckless driving' saved our bacon," Shaw points out.

"Very true, Ms. Shaw. However, I assume you would prefer not to explain that to Detective Carter's colleagues."

Elizabeth is making blah-blah-blah motions with her hands.

Shaw sighs. "How long should we stay low?"

"A few hours at the least. The Detectives are doing what they can on their end."

"But what if we get bored?" Shaw says. Elizabeth looks like she's trying not to laugh.

There's a pause, and then what sounds suspiciously like a muffled chuckle at the other end of the line.

"I highly doubt either of you will be 'bored'. In the unlikely event that you and Miss Ruben are at a loss for ways to pass the time, I have sent a number of interesting files via the usual channels for Miss Ruben to analyze while I assist Mr. Reese at the Sarif offices. However, they do not require immediate attention."

"Got it," Shaw says. She turns to Elizabeth and says, "Finch thinks we should lay low for awhile; we'll head to one of the safehouses. He's gonna send you some files to poke at while he's hacking into a bank or the Pentagon or something."

"Awesome," Elizabeth says.

#####

The car eases to a halt outside a row of decrepit, abandoned brick buildings. Shaw cuts the engine and the only sound inside the cab is the noisy patter of rain against the windshield and roof.

Shaw points to a graffiti-covered metal door set within a shallow alcove.

"There's our safehouse," Shaw says.

"Ugh, no awning?" Elizabeth says, glaring up at the sky as though she could evaporate the rain through sheer irritation. "My hair's so gonna frizz."

Shaw snorts. "The only way your hair could get frizzier is if you went full-on 'fro. It's only a few feet. Ready?"

"Ready!"

They open the doors simultaneously and run for the alcove. Elizabeth gets there first. There's a nest of telephone utility boxes next to the door; she opens each one until she finds the one with the keypad. Shaw wishes she'd move just a _little_ bit faster; there's no room to stand in the alcove and if she's not mistaken, the sky is even more determined to baptize her now than it had been when they'd stolen the drug dealer's car earlier that day.

Elizabeth taps a code on the keypad. A moment later, the door clicks and she shoulders it open. Eager to get out of the damn rain, Shaw follows her inside—until Elizabeth gasps and jumps backward out of the doorway like she's been shocked, backing straight into Shaw.

"What's wrong?" Shaw demands. She moves fast. With one hand, she grabs Elizabeth's shoulder and pushes her out of harm's way, shoving her aside; with the other, simultaneously, she yanks out her pistol and aims it square at the doorway, her eyes probing the darkness beyond for threats. She doesn't see any. For a few seconds, she stands there in the pounding rain with her gun pointed square at the doorway.

Nothing happens.

"It's dark," Elizabeth says, just loud enough to be heard over the rain.

Incredulous, Shaw turns to stare at her. Elizabeth looks pale again and she's staring down at the wet sidewalk, her arms crossed.

"It's _dark_?" Shaw echos. " _That's_ why you jumped like a bat out of hell?"

Elizabeth nods, and she has that little frown on her face, the tiny scowl, the tightened lips. It's the _look_ , the expression that's frustrated and frightened and determined all at the same time, like she wants to cry but she's trying really hard not to, and it makes Shaw feel all funny inside. Shaw doesn't see the _look_ very often, but when she does, she knows Elizabeth is seriously freaked out.

Shaw scans the doorway again, then steps inside with care, feeling around on the inside wall until her fingers find a light switch. Florescent lights flicker into life at the top of the stairs. There's nothing dangerous anywhere, possibly excepting a wobbly wooden stair or two. Shaw sighs, puts the pistol away, and pokes her head out into the rain, motioning for Elizabeth. "Come on," she says. "I turned on the lights."

Elizabeth follows in silence. The door at the top of the staircase is locked by a second keypad. Shaw punches in the combination and opens the door, clicking on the lights as she moves into the loft apartment.

It takes awhile to get settled in. Elizabeth shrugs off her coat, kicks off her shoes, and goes straight for the teakettle, shaking her head to dislodge the rain from her hair, while Shaw heads for the bathroom to towel off. They have their priorities. A few minutes later, they're both sitting at the kitchen table. Shaw is looking at Elizabeth and Elizabeth is looking at the table. Elizabeth's hand trembles around a teacup, sending little ripples through the beverage, but she doesn't drink.

For awhile, neither of them speak.

"John's told me you don't like the dark," Shaw says to break the silence. "But I didn't know it was that bad."

Elizabeth nods, barely. "I've been like that ever since he rescued me," she says. "The container was pitch black inside." Her voice is tiny and pathetic and Shaw doesn't like that. "That's why there's nightlights in all the bedrooms. I can't sleep at night without them."

Shaw long ago noticed the tiny lights in each of the team's safehouses and apartments, but she never realized just how much Elizabeth depended on the gentle glow they emitted at night.

"I'm sorry," Shaw says, but even though she's really trying, it doesn't come out sounding as sincere as she'd like.

"I wish I wasn't," Elizabeth says. Her eyes are still focused firmly on the table. She sniffs once. "I really do. But I always freak out when it's really dark. Or when I see handcuffs. Or needles."

"Phobias suck," Shaw says. She hopes Elizabeth isn't about to start crying. Not because Shaw has a thing against crying, but because she's still pretty lousy at the whole comforting thing and she just doesn't know what to _do_ when Elizabeth breaks down, and that makes her nervous. "But you can kick 'em, given time."

Elizabeth perks up by the tiniest amount. "How?"

"Therapy," Shaw says. "Gradual exposure in a safe environment. You start small, like being handcuffed in a dark medical storeroom filled with syringes."

"Thanks," Elizabeth says wryly. She finally looks up at Shaw with a lopsided grin. "That's _really_ the mental image I need right now."

"Couldn't resist," Shaw says. "But really—it's all baby steps. The more you face it, the less the phobia affects you."

"I dunno," Elizabeth says, averting her eyes. "I've tried that a few times...every time I turned off the lights, it felt like I was gonna _die_."

"Were you alone?"

"...yeah," Elizabeth says. A flicker of hope appears in her eyes. "Why, you think it'll work better with somebody else with me?"

"If it's somebody you trust," Shaw said, shrugging.

Elizabeth barely hesitates. "I want to try it," she says, and there's the headstrong Elizabeth that Shaw admires. "I'm _tired_ of freaking out at the dark."

"I'm game if you are," Shaw says. "But we should probably do it another day. It's been a rough afternoon."

"Yeah," Elizabeth agrees. She finally takes a sip of her tea, and Shaw is pleased to see that her hands aren't shaking as badly as they were a few minutes ago. "So...how about those files Finch wants me to look at?"

Shaw, without missing a beat, says, "They're uploading _really_ slowly. Won't be done for an hour or so."

"Oh," Elizabeth says, and a sly grin appears on her face. She sets the teacup down. "Well then." She leans forward, propping her elbows on the table. "Whatever should we do with our sudden and unexpected free time?"

Shaw matches her pose, quirking an eyebrow. "Hmm, I dunno," she says. "But I have a few _ideas_..."

#####

The next few days are chock-full of Numbers: a single mother struggling to make ends meet and went to the wrong people for a loan, a college varsity athlete who got too big for his britches, a corporate whistleblower who was about to blast the lid off an industrial accident cover-up that left nine people dead...

Some of the cases are ones Elizabeth can help with. Other ones are suited more exclusively to Shaw's particular set of skills. But _all_ of them are a pain in the ass and Shaw is amazed that the cases keep ending up with nobody dead—sure, the athlete needed a few stitches by the time John and Shaw pulled him from that shitty apartment, and John was gonna be feeling that bruise from the lady's handbag for a day or two, but it sure beat being being six feet under. (Although John's wounded ego would say otherwise.)

But finally, there's a morning where Finch hasn't gotten any SSNs at all from his pet supercomputer. Shaw arrives at the library chamber to find Finch is sitting in front of his half-dozen monitors (Shaw sometimes wonders if he's compensating for something) and Reese lurking in the dark corner like a bat. Reese nods to Shaw when she enters. Finch turns to face her and says, "Ah, good morning, Ms. Shaw. The city does not need our services at the moment. Perhaps you should take the day off?"

There's no question that "you" means "you and Elizabeth".

She doesn't argue—a day off sounds _really_ good right now. "You and John are good to handle it if one comes in?" she asks.

"Yes," Finch says. "After yesterday's tumultuous events, you've certainly earned a break. As has our esteemed Miss Ruben."

"John got thrashed pretty bad too," Shaw points out. "We _all_ need a break."

"Mr. Reese elected for you to take precedence," Finch says.

"You can cover for me another day," Reese says.

"Fair enough," Shaw says. She nods at Reese and says, "Call us if things get too crazy," she says, and she leaves, sneaking out through the service tunnel.

Shaw has her cell phone halfway to her ear before she remembers to check the time—7:03AM. She's learned the hard way that Elizabeth cherishes her beauty sleep, so she puts the phone away and decides to kill the next hour or two, starting with breakfast. She hits up her favorite diner, a little place run by a couple that've been stuck in the 70s for the past few decades and have the place decorated to match. Shaw decides that it has been too fucking long since she's tasted homemade french toast, so that's what she orders, along with an extra side of hash browns and bacon and a coffee. She goes to town with the powdered sugar and butter on the french toast because _fuck_ , it's been too long.

When Shaw is done making love to her plate, she pays—casually tipping the kind but overworked waitress about 1000% of the bill—and heads out. It's still early, so she meanders the neighborhood. It's been weeks since she's had free time, and it feels good to be wandering New York without having to worry about tailing a Number, dodging bullets, or pulling somebody's ass out of the fire.

She crosses over into West Village and does a little window shopping, because she has free time and again, it's been way too long since she's been able to do _whatever_. There's a store that's dedicated to selling geeky paraphernalia, and in the window is a flash drive Shaw just _has_ to buy for Finch so she can watch him squirm. (It's shaped like a tentacle, and when plugged into a computer it _wiggles_ in an disturbingly sexual manner.) Then there's the pet store next door (Shaw can't resist a squeaky toy for Finch's guard dog and a nice rawhide bone for Bear) and next to that, nestled a little ways back from the sidewalk, is an understated sex shop.

Shaw makes an immediate ninety-degree turn and heads inside to find a surprise for Elizabeth.

Shaw's been in this place before; the proprietors are friendly and it's well stocked with high-quality products, not the cheap stuff that falls apart immediately. The prices are higher than most places, but with Shaw's wallet, that's no problem, and besides, Shaw's willing to pay just about anything if it'll bring a smile of delight to Elizabeth's face.

She browses through the various sections of the store, not looking for anything in particular. She passes the wall of vibrators (Elizabeth has enough of _those_ even without Shaw's help, and it's hard to top the wireless prototypes from the TriSoft case anyhow), spends a few minutes browsing the outfits (and imagining Elizabeth in a particularly striking black leather corset, leather boots, and elbow-length gloves), pauses to admire the Sybian on display towards the back (she wonders if Finch would notice the $1000 charge from her credit card—probably not, but it doesn't seem right at the moment as a gift, so she passes it up), and finally moseys down the aisle with the bondage gear.

A third of the way down, she stops and considers the items on the shelves.

Blindfolds.

Shaw and Elizabeth have never used blindfolds in their bondage play. Shaw likes being able to see how round and dark Elizabeth's eyes get when she's in subspace and a blindfold gets in the way of that; as for Elizabeth, she's never asked for one. Now that Shaw knows just how much Elizabeth fears darkness, she understands why.

Shaw chews the inside of her lip, recalling the conversation about Elizabeth's phobias. A blindfold could be a good way to help Elizabeth cope with her fear of the dark—a more comfortable and intimate method than a dark room and a light switch—but they'd have to be careful, patient.

It's worth a try.

Surveying the selection, Shaw picks out a blindfold she thinks Elizabeth won't find frightening: a fine, lightweight silken mask in navy blue, shaped to fit the face and stay where it belongs without slipping. A long ribbon trails from either side to be tied together at the back of the head. It's simple, but more importantly, it's something Elizabeth can adjust and remove quickly if she wants to, unlike some of the fancier leather blindfolds that are held in place by a harness that wraps around the head.

Shaw wanders the shop awhile longer, but doesn't pick anything else. She pays for the blindfold and steps outside.

Finally, Shaw calls Elizabeth.

"Hey, Shaw," Elizabeth says when the line connects. She sounds resigned and more than a little tired. "Who's dying today?"

"Actually," Shaw says. "We have a day off. Are you in the mood?"

There's a pause, and Shaw can hear the grin spreading across Elizabeth's face. "Hell to the yes," Elizabeth says. "Been needing to blow off some steam for _days_. Where at?"

"The Belleville loft."

"Oh, I _like_ that place," Elizabeth says. "It has a fiber-optic Internet connection."

"You _sure_ you're not Finch's little sister?" Shaw teases.

"Shush. It has a really nice bed, too. And no nosy neighbors."

"That's more like it. Be there at ten, yeah?"

" _Hell_ yeah. See you then."

#####

 _A/N I wanted to write something happy after that last story. This one should be about 3 chapters or so. Then it's back to work on Feature Creep!_

 _Reviews are love!_

#####


	2. Chapter 2

#####

The Belleville loft takes up the third and fourth floors of an uptown building owned by a small software company that is in no way related to a certain Harold Fisher. It's a nice dig, all airy spaces and skylights and tall, thin windows that look out onto the streets. The floors are wood and the walls are brick, illuminated at night by tiny halogen spotlights that cast warm pools of light. The living room area is two stories high; a grand spiral staircase leads up to a balcony and the bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves dominate one side of the room and a wide plasma TV lurks at the other. The places is _modern_ , but in subtle ways; the air conditioning vents are practically hidden, the window shades slide down from concealed panels at the touch of a button, and of course, the wireless network is top notch even by Elizabeth's standards.

Shaw does her usual paranoid walkthrough, making sure nobody's hiding in the apartment. (She still remembers the time Root had been waiting for them at Elizabeth's place after a case, intent on delivering a flash drive with some _admittedly_ useful information at the Machine's behest. Neither Shaw nor Elizabeth had noticed the woman lounging in Elizabeth's desk chair until they were nearly out of their underwear. Shaw had been furious, but Elizabeth's reaction had been infinitely more satisfying than Shaw's sputtering; Shaw really wishes she had a recording of Elizabeth, topless, chasing a wide-eyed Root out of the apartment with a pillow and a deadly glare.)

Once she's satisfied the place is clear, she stashes her gifts in the entryway closet, except for the blindfold, which she removes from its packaging and puts in her pocket. Then she settles in to wait.

Elizabeth shows up right on time, calling, "It's me!" as she opens the door and steps into the apartment. She's wearing one of her quirky outfits, an odd, kitsch mismatch of vintage styles that she somehow manages to rock: a knee length skirt, the kind that swirls, with the same type of abstract brown and gold patterning Shaw is pretty sure was popular on linoleum floors when she was a kid; a pumpkin-colored blouse under a brown cardigan; a lightweight tan scarf, knotted loosely at the neck; dark brown knee socks and leather mary janes.

Shaw sometimes wonders why Elizabeth bothers to dress up so much when she knows she's going to be naked in the near future, but she's not complaining or anything because she _might_ have a minor thing for knee socks and skirts, especially when a certain frizzy-haired freckle-faced hacker is wearing them. (Shaw's not sure if Elizabeth has picked up on this yet.)

Elizabeth takes off her shoes as soon as she enters, setting them neatly on the hardwood floor. She's funny about shoes—not in the closet-full sense like some people, but in a sorta creepy, overly-attached way. Shaw doesn't get why, but then again, Shaw sometimes goes through a half-dozen pairs of shoes a week while Elizabeth cherishes her mother's hand-me-down little-kid shoes from last century like they're made of gold or something. She never wears her nice kicks on the job, not since the McDowell case. Shaw still feels kinda bad about how that one turned out. Sure, it was great that they managed to stop the little bastard, but not without taking casualties: Elizabeth's clothes were a _goner_...

"Sooo," Elizabeth says. "Got any plans for the day?" She flops down on the couch with a happy _oomph_ and her skirt briefly billows. She puts her stockinged feet up on the coffee table, crossing her legs at the ankle and wiggling her toes. Shaw sits next to her.

"Kinda," Shaw says. "I had an idea. Something new to try."

"What kind of something new?" Elizabeth says, her voice sultry.

"An _optional_ something new," Shaw says. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"Uh, okay. What is it?"

Shaw removes the blindfold from her pocket and sets it on the couch between them.

Elizabeth doesn't get it at first. Her eyes are quizzical, but then it clicks—and she suddenly looks nervous.

"Oh," she says. Her voice is little more than a whisper. She sits up straighter and takes her feet off the coffee table.

"It was just an idea," Shaw says quickly. "I thought this might be a good way to start with the phobia thing, but if you don't want to—"

"I dunno about this," Elizabeth says.

"Okay," Shaw says, and she immediately tosses the blindfold onto the coffee table. She squeezes Elizabeth's shoulder in reassurance. "No pressure." But Elizabeth doesn't respond. Her gaze is fixed on the blindfold.

"Could we...try it?" she says. "Just to—to see what it's like."

"You sure?"

Elizabeth nods. Shaw snags the blindfold from the coffee table and offers it. "Hold it. See what it feels like."

With trembling hands, Elizabeth takes the blindfold, running the soft material experimentally through her fingers. She holds it up to the light to find that it's completely opaque. She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and closes her eyes. With shaking hands, she pulls the mask over her eyes. It's crooked. Elizabeth's fingers fumble with the ribbons as she tries to tie them behind her head.

"Want me to do it?" Shaw asks.

"Yeah," Elizabeth whispers.

"I'll take it off as soon as you tell me," Shaw promises. "And you can always peak under it. Okay? Turn to your left a bit." Shaw straightens the mask and takes the ends of the ribbons, tying them together with quick, deft motions. "There."

Elizabeth is frozen, a statue with wild hair. She's staring away from Shaw, looking off towards the corner of the room—or would be, if it weren't for the blindfold. Her right hand is clenched into a tight fist and her face is pale.

"Hey," Shaw says. "I'm over here." She puts her hand on Elizabeth's thigh. Startled by the touch, Elizabeth gasps and instinctively tilts her head downward, then looks in Shaw's general direction. Her mouth is ajar and her chest moves rapidly in and out. Shaw watches her carefully to make sure she doesn't start hyperventilating.

Shaw has to admit, there's something vaguely erotic about the combination of Elizabeth's freckled face and the navy blue blindfold, something thrilling about the way her mouth is open just so, as if in a soundless gasp of pleasure. But she knows that the blindfold represents something terrifying to Elizabeth, and Shaw will never pressure Elizabeth into wearing it just to satisfy her desires.

A soft moan, nearly inaudible, escapes from Elizabeth's lips. Her fingers scrabble for the edge of the blindfold and she pulls it up over one eye just enough to peek out from underneath.

"Still here," Shaw says, poker-faced. The corner of Elizabeth's mouth twitches upward. "Don't forget to breathe. Nice and slow."

"Yeah," Elizabeth says faintly. She takes a deep breath, then another, before moving the mask back down again.

"I can do this," she whispers. "Just—don't leave me alone."

"I won't," Shaw says.

"Keep talking, I mean," Elizabeth says. "When you don't talk, it feels like I'm alone."

"You're not alone," Shaw says. "Just listen to my voice." She takes Elizabeth's shaking hand in hers, and Elizabeth reciprocates the grip and then some, squeezing hard enough to be uncomfortable. "You're safe with me."

"I-" Shaw winces as the pressure on her hand increases. Elizabeth trembles. "I'm-I-" She yanks her hand out of Shaw's grasp and pulls the blindfold up again, this time uncovering both eyes. Her eyes are very, very dark, the pupils dilated.

"You're okay," Shaw says.

Elizabeth lowers the blindfold again. Then raises it. Then lowers it again. Finally, she goes for the knot in the ribbons and yanks the blindfold off her head. She gazes down at it with a grimace on her face and then, without a word, hands it back to Shaw.

"Baby steps," Shaw reminds her. "If you still want to try it, of course." She folds the blindfold up and puts it in her pocket again.

"Yeah," Elizabeth says. Her arms are crossed; she's cradling herself. "Just...another day?"

"Sure. You did good." She pats Elizabeth's knee. "Let me get you cup of tea. Take it easy for a few."

"Tea would be nice," Elizabeth says. The color is coming back to her face. She waits until Shaw is halfway to the kitchen before she adds, "But I didn't come here to take it easy _..._ "

"Oh?" Shaw says. "So what _did_ you come for?" She turns around just in time to see Elizabeth tossing her cardigan across the room. It lands on the dining room table.

"See, that's the problem," Elizabeth says. Grinning coyly, she sprawls on the couch, throwing one stockinged leg up on the cushions. "I _haven't_ yet..."

#####

They try it again a few days later at Elizabeth's request. Shaw suspects the timing is deliberate; the afternoon before, they'd almost lost a Number who'd fled into an abandoned fire station, not knowing that one of his pursuers was lying in wait inside the darkened building. (He should've gotten the hint at the unlocked front door.) Elizabeth, try as she might, couldn't force herself to follow him into the dark hallways. John had shown up just in time to save the poor man's life, but it had been a close call.

"I couldn't go any further than the first room," Elizabeth told Shaw afterward. "It was like the darkness was pushing back at me. Even the flashlight didn't help."

The next day, Elizabeth asks to try the blindfold again.

They go back to the Belleville loft, but this time, they head upstairs to the bedroom. The room is huge—easily the size of some of the smaller apartments Finch has purchased for the team to use—but it's divided by freestanding folding partitions that screen off little spaces separate from the main room: on one side of the room is a dressing area and on the opposite side is a niche just big enough for a tiny couch and a small flatscreen television. In addition, the four-post bed in the center, with its majestic canopy, is almost a separate space all of its own, which lends the bedroom an intimate atmosphere without it being claustrophobic.

Wide throw rugs give the room a splash of color—half-burnt oranges and reds, lots of earthen tones—and large potted plants add life. There's a record player off to the side, sitting on a long, low cabinet with hundreds of LPs, and the obligatory bookshelves that are a result of having Finch as a landlord.

Elizabeth is shaking. Shaw guides her to the bed, figuring that all the hours they've spent on it doing wonderful and unmentionable things would help put Elizabeth's mind at ease. But Elizabeth continues to tremble after she sits cross-legged on the bed. She's already pale as a ghost, the anxious pout on her face is just one step away from the _look_ —and Shaw hasn't even brought out the blindfold yet.

"Deep breaths," Shaw says. She steadies Elizabeth by the shoulders. "Remember, this is a choice, okay?"

"Yeah," Elizabeth mumbles. She nods. "I wanna do it. I shouldn't be this afraid of a stupid piece of _fabric_."

"It's not the blindfold that's getting you; it's the darkness."

"Close enough." She exhales, slowly. "I want to try it again."

"Ready?"

Elizabeth nods again. "Do it."

Shaw pulls the blindfold out of her pocket and scoots around behind Elizabeth so she can tie the blindfold. Elizabeth holds very still as she works. Once the blindfold is in place, Shaw waves her hand in front of Elizabeth's face. No reaction.

Elizabeth's fists are clenching again.

" _Breathe_ ," Shaw reminds her. "Think about your surroundings. Where are we?"

"In—in the loft," Elizabeth says, licking her lips. Her mouth is open just slightly. "Bedroom. On the bed. Where we got cock-blocked by John two weeks ago."

Shaw snorts. "We made up for that in spades."

"Yeah, but—that was the _worst_ moment to call."

"What a dick. Anyway. You're someplace _safe_. Nothing can hurt you here. If anybody tries, I'll kick their ass."

"That's reassuring," Elizabeth says. Her hands have relaxed. She's feeling the sheets around her, tracing the folds and wrinkles with her fingers. Suddenly, she unfurls her legs and dangles them off the side of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Shaw asks curiously.

"Making sure I can still move," Elizabeth says. She pushes off the bed to stand, and for a little while, she stays rooted to the spot, swinging her arms in lazy circles.

Shaw wonders what this is about, but then she remembers Elizabeth had been handcuffed inside the cargo container.

"Don't fall over," Shaw warns her. She stands as well. "It's hard to keep your balance with your eyes covered."

"I'm fine." Elizabeth takes a tentative, tiny step forward, away from the bed. Then another. "I just—I really have to move." One foot in front of the other. She makes it out to the open space in the center of the room and stops, holding her arms out, feeling for obstructions. She turns around. Turns again. Her arms meet nothing but air.

"S-Shaw?" she asks, and the note of panic in her voice makes Shaw's heart do funny things she didn't know it was capable of doing.

"Right here," Shaw says immediately. She steps closer. "You're in the middle of the room."

"Where's the bed? Can you—"

"Here," Shaw says. She takes hold of Elizabeth's outstretched hand. Elizabeth flinches at the unexpected touch, but allows Shaw to lead her back to the bed. As soon as they sit, Elizabeth's fingers go for the blindfold. She peeks out from under it, her eyes flickering to Shaw.

"Yep," Shaw says. "I'm _still_ hot. Thanks for double-checking."

Shaw is pretty sure she sees Elizabeth roll her eyes before the blindfold goes down again.

Elizabeth keeps the blindfold on for a few more minutes. She stays on the bed, not risking any more forays out onto the floor. Shaw thinks Elizabeth is doing pretty good until she sees Elizabeth's face turn white with alarming rapidness. By the time Elizabeth pulls the blindfold off her head, her hands are trembling.

"Flashback," she says bitterly. " _Fuck_ Tara Dodson."

"I'm sure she's having the time of her life in a six-by-eight," Shaw says. She pats Elizabeth's knee. "Don't think about her. Come on, let's go eat lunch."

"We ate like an hour ago," Elizabeth points out, but she follows Shaw downstairs anyway, leaving the blindfold abandoned on the bed.

#####

They keep at it, and they make progress. Slowly. Elizabeth wears the blindfold for longer and longer periods of time, but every once in awhile, she just needs it _off_ , even if Shaw has just finished tying the ribbons behind her head. Shaw isn't surprised. She knows Elizabeth is dealing with a deep-seated trauma—she'd nearly _died_ in the cargo container—and chances are, she'll never be able to kick it completely.

But they do make progress. On good days, Elizabeth can wear the blindfold for five, ten, fifteen minutes at a time. Dark rooms are harder, but it doesn't take long to figure out that Shaw's voice stabilizes Elizabeth's nerves in the darkness, giving her enough confidence to enter a room with the lights switched off and then stay there for several minutes. They're quite scientific; they experiment with the earpieces to see if Shaw's physical presence makes a difference. They quickly discover that Elizabeth is most comfortable with Shaw in the room, but even the static-laced sound of Shaw's voice from afar makes the darkness bearable—as long as Elizabeth has a flashlight or the room is familiar.

They return to the firehouse a few days after the case went south. Shaw clears the building twice to put Elizabeth's mind at ease, then passes Elizabeth the heavy metal flashlight and holds open the door for her.

"It's clear," Shaw says. "I'll go with you this time. Then you can try it on your own."

"Y-yeah," Elizabeth says. She grips the flashlight with both hands and holds it out like a weapon to confront the shadows of the entryway. The sunlight penetrates only a few feet into the building before being swallowed by the darkness.

Elizabeth has a look of stony determination on her face, but the tremble of the flashlight belies her outward calm. She takes a deep breath, then another, and finally steps forward into the building.

Shaw closes the door, cutting off the sunlight, and now the only illumination is the shaking beam from Elizabeth's flashlight. She sweeps it across the room, highlighting a mottled couch and a CRT television, both covered in dust. The windows are shaded and covered in plywood.

Elizabeth makes a full circle, probing the flashlight beam into every corner of the room.

"I didn't realize this place was so damn creepy," Elizabeth whispers. "I'm whispering. Why am I whispering?"

"Because ghosts," Shaw says, and Elizabeth scowls.

"That's _not_ what I need to hear right now!"

"I didn't know you were superstitious."

"I'm _not_ ," Elizabeth hisses. "I'm just freaked out enough already, okay?"

"Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood." She waits a beat, and says, "Get it? Lighten?"

"I like you better when you're gagged," Elizabeth growls.

"All right, all right, I'll cut it out."

They explore the firehouse. Shaw follows close behind Elizabeth as she makes her way through the various rooms. Elizabeth takes her sweet time at each doorway, pointing the flashlight into all the nooks and crannies of the room before she enters. Shaw wishes Elizabeth would move just a tiny bit faster, because the fire station is kinda boring inside and this is the _third_ time she's seen each room in the past half-hour, but she keeps her boredom to herself.

She's doing this for Elizabeth, and she will stay all day and come back the next if that's what it takes to help her ailing hacker heal.

Elizabeth is doing fine as far as Shaw can tell. Her breathing is rapid but under control. The light from the flashlight still wavers, but it's not as noticeable as it was when she first entered the building. Still, when Elizabeth sees the daylight leaking under the little access door in the garage, she breaks into a run and doesn't stop until she's back out in sunlight.

" _Yeah!_ " Elizabeth says, pumping her fist. "I didn't die!"

"You did good," Shaw says. They high-five and walk a little ways away from the old brick building; Elizabeth kicks aside pebbles as she encounters them in the dirt lot. They take a seat on an cement block surrounded by browning weeds.

"So how'd it go?" Shaw asks.

"My heart's still pounding," Elizabeth admits. "But I'm feeling pretty good." She kicks her legs, knocking the heels of her shoes against the cement like a little kid. " _God_ , I hate the dark still."

"Hating and fearing are different things," Shaw says. "One at a time, yeah?"

"Right." Elizabeth sighs.

"So." Shaw slaps Elizabeth on the shoulder. "Want to try it on your own, or go home for the day?"

Elizabeth freezes, one leg dangling in mid-air. She stares at the building, eyes narrowed, and then hops off the block without a word. Shaw follows her to the back door.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Shaw reminds her.

"I know," Elizabeth says. She hesitates with her hand on the doorknob.

"I'll be waiting at the front, okay?" Shaw says. She taps her ear. "And I'm on the earpiece."

"Okay," Elizabeth says. She clicks on the flashlight and, without looking back, she steps into the building, pulling the door shut behind her.

Shaw hurries around to the front door.

It takes thirty seconds. Maybe a minute. But Shaw is sure it's much longer for Elizabeth. The door handle rattles and Elizabeth bursts out of the building, catching Shaw in a crushing hug around the midriff. The impact nearly knocks the two of them over.

"Made it," Elizabeth whispers.

"Great job," Shaw says. She plants a kiss on Elizabeth's cheek. "Also, I can't breathe."

"Oh, shut _up_ ," Elizabeth says. She squeezes tighter. "You're talking. That means you can breathe."

Elizabeth hangs on until Shaw starts making exaggerated gasping noises. After releasing Shaw, Elizabeth kicks the door shut, flips the bird at it once, and follows Shaw towards the car.

Definitely progress. Shaw wonders if the pride is showing on her face.

#####

 _A/N_ Next chapter is the last one (and is the dirty part that some of you are no doubt waiting for!). After this I can work on Feature Creep. I already have a chapter 1/2 done.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

#####

The next few days leave little personal time for Shaw and Elizabeth. At night, there's just enough hours for them to sleep and then it's another case, another Number, back-to-back. But the team does pretty good staying on top of everything and somehow, _still_ , nobody ends up dead. (Shaw thinks they're approaching some kind of record.) By the time the latest stream of SSNs from the Machine dries up, the team is relieved, but also proud of the number of deadly plots they've managed to foil recently with no loss of life...and minimal loss of kneecaps.

(The last guy really deserved it. Shaw's glad they have people like Finch and Elizabeth on their side to eradicate the revenge porn site the fucking asswagon had been running.)

Shaw wakes one morning to find a text message from Finch: _No numbers today. Give my regards to Miss Ruben. I will see you tomorrow._

Shaw smiles, dresses, and heads for the Belleville loft. This time, Elizabeth is the one to call—she must've woken early. Shaw gives her the good news; Elizabeth happily promises to be over within the hour.

Elizabeth shows up later that morning. This time her knee socks are black and the hem of the pleated blue skirt is higher than usual, swirling two or three inches above her knees. Paired with a crisp white blouse, a knotted blue scarf that matches the skirt, and shiny leather shoes, Elizabeth looks far more like a schoolgirl than usual, and Shaw is _really_ wondering if Elizabeth has figured her out and is messing with her on purpose.

"You look, uh, youthful," Shaw says as Elizabeth bends over to takes off her shoes. Her eyes flicker between Elizabeth's legs and ass.

"Thanks," Elizabeth says. There's a sly little grin on her face, blink and you miss it, as she straightens and stretches, shifting her hips so the skirt swirls. The motion draws Shaw's eyes downward.

( _Definitely_ on purpose. Not that Shaw's complaining.)

Elizabeth takes Shaw by the shoulder, pulling her in for a kiss, a quick peck on the lips. "That's for saving my ass yesterday," she says. She leans in again, hungrier, and this time she doesn't bother giving a reason. Shaw's fingers entwine themselves in Elizabeth's frizzy hair.

They hold the embrace briefly after their lips part.

"What are you in the mood for?" Shaw asks gently.

"Hmm," Elizabeth says. She chews the inside of her lip. "I want to practice with the blindfold first. Then we can get to the fun stuff."

"Okay," Shaw says.

"I'll be up there in a bit," Elizabeth says, tilting her head towards the guest bathroom.

Shaw heads upstairs to the bedroom. As she crosses the room, her eyes fall on the record player. She hesitates mid-step and then kneels before the shelf, searching through the albums. She wants something relaxing, something jazzy, but not all saxophone and swank—Elizabeth has more of an eclectic taste in music, alt and funk and rock-n-roll, and Eddie Harris won't cut it.

Her fingers stop at _Aja_ , and she pulls the album from the shelf. The record is pristine, not a scratch, either brand new or very lovingly cared for. Shaw places it in the record player and starts it playing. A minute later, Elizabeth comes in.

"What's that?" she asks curiously. Her brow furrows as she listens, but when the recognition hits, she smiles. "Oh! Steely Dan!"

"I think music will help," Shaw says, adjusting the volume knob so the song is audible in the background but no louder. Donald Fagan mumbles about alcoholic beverages over a funky bassline as Shaw says, "Another thing to ground you."

"Yeah, let's try it," Elizabeth says.

"You ready?"

"Uh-huh." She fidgets with her hands and clasps them tight in front of her.

Shaw takes the blindfold out of her pocket and twirls her finger. Elizabeth turns around, facing the wall. Gently, Shaw brushes the hair away from her face and pulls the silken fabric over her eyes. Elizabeth lets out a tiny gasp when the blindfold covers her eyes—she always does—but there's no further reaction as Shaw ties the ribbons in place. "Okay," Shaw says, taking a step back.

Elizabeth's breathing is calm, if not particularly deep—a major improvement over the first few times they've tried this. She still looks a little pale, but not enough for Shaw to be concerned.

"How's it feel?" Shaw asks.

"Fine," Elizabeth says. Shaw dislikes that response, because Elizabeth regularly and chronically abuses the term, adapting it to mean anything from "just got the best birthday present _ever_ " to "nearly got blown up in an exploding warehouse". But her voice is relatively unperturbed, so Shaw lets it slide. Elizabeth tilts her head. Shaw gets the impression that she's listening closely to the song.

"I like the music," Elizabeth says. She starts swaying in time to the beat. "It's relaxing."

"That's good," Shaw says.

"And—" Elizabeth's brow furrows again, like she's concentrating. She moves her head. "It gives me a sense of direction." She points towards the record player. "The speakers are there. So that means the bed is..." She pauses, considers, and points again. "... _there_." She's not 100% accurate, but it's close enough. Elizabeth moves back and forth, taking small, deliberate steps. "I can tell where I am from the sound."

"The brain does weird stuff without the eyes," Shaw says. "It can fill in pieces of the room from the echos reflected back at you. Your sense of hearing is sharpened."

"So I'm a bat," Elizabeth says. She laughs. It's weak, brief, but it's also the first time Shaw has ever heard Elizabeth laugh while wearing the blindfold, so there's that. "I'm batwoman. John's got competition coming."

"Please don't start talking like you've got a sore throat," Shaw says as Elizabeth starts to wander. She holds her arms out in front of her and feels out each step carefully with her stocking-clad feet. It's slow, but Elizabeth makes it to the bed without incident. Her fingers brush against one of the posts.

"Right where I thought it'd be," she says, sounding pleased. She turns around quickly, leaving Shaw to scoot backwards out of the way of her arms.

"Not bad," Shaw says. She shifts a few feet to the side. "Try a moving target."

Elizabeth obliges. When her outstretched fingers get within a few inches, Shaw moves again. "Oops," she says. "Over here."

Huffing, Elizabeth re-orients herself and moves towards Shaw.

"You're doing good," Shaw says. She moves in an arc and Elizabeth keeps turning to face her, following her voice. "Still feeling all right?"

"Yeah," Elizabeth says. "Look out, I'mma catch yo _oww!_ "

Elizabeth's foot meets the rug and the rug wins. Shaw rushes forward to catch Elizabeth by the wrists before she falls. The end result is Elizabeth's face pressed up against Shaw's breasts, a situation which neither of them mind very much.

Somehow, the blindfold is still in place.

"Hmm," Elizabeth mumbles into Shaw's chest. "I fell into something soft." Shaw helps her stand and releases her wrists, but Elizabeth doesn't move away—no, she moves closer. Her hands reach out and find Shaw's shoulders. One hand goes up, tracing along Shaw's smooth neck until her trembling fingers rest lightly against Shaw's cheek. The other hand moves downward, feeling its way over Shaw's breast and down her ribs until it reaches her hips. "Something very...Shaw-shaped."

"And what shape is a Shaw?" She stands still, allowing Elizabeth's hands to explore her profile. Elizabeth's hands are very warm, and Shaw can feel the heat from Elizabeth's body radiating through her thin tank top.

"Is sexy a shape?" Elizabeth asks innocently as one hand dips down towards Shaw's ass. The other explores her back.

Shaw leans forward to whisper into Elizabeth's ear. "You bet it is," she says, and Elizabeth hums contentedly.

"Let's get to the bed," Shaw says. "I'll guide you."

Together, they make their way slowly across the room. Halfway there, Elizabeth finds the button on Shaw's jeans and unfastens it. Shaw helps Elizabeth up onto the bed, shimmies out of the pants, and crawls up after her. Elizabeth ends up sprawled out luxuriously on her back, surrounded by fluffy pillows and forest green sheets.

"You know," Shaw says, "your hearing isn't the only sense that's amplified when you're blindfolded." Her hand creeps under Elizabeth's skirt. Elizabeth starts and gasps at the unexpected touch. " _Every_ other sense gets turned up." She runs a finger lightly upward, tracing delicately along the inside of her leg. "Especially your sense of touch." Shaw lets her hand drift just a little too far north, and Elizabeth mumbles softly.

"You good?" Shaw asks.

"Yeah." Elizabeth says. Her voice is quiet but confident. "Yeah, I'm good."

Shaw begins to undress Elizabeth, like unwrapping a precious gift. She starts with the scarf, unknotting it and pulling it carefully from behind Elizabeth's head before tossing it aside. Next comes the blouse. Shaw unfastens the top button, revealing a patch of pale, freckled skin that's just begging to be kissed. Shaw obliges, suckling and teasing the skin between her teeth, and then continues to unfasten the buttons, one at a time, punctuating each one with kisses on Elizabeth's neck, chest, and shoulder. When she gets to the last button, she helps Elizabeth wriggle out of the garment and tosses it to the floor. Elizabeth's bra soon follows, then her skirt, and finally, Shaw slowly divests Elizabeth of her panties.

She leaves the socks.

"Uh, you're forgetting something," Elizabeth says when she doesn't feel Shaw's hands on her legs. She tries sitting up, but Shaw pushes her firmly back down to the bed.

"Nope," Shaw says. "I'm not."

"I'm pretty sure you have a fetish," Elizabeth says, laughing.

"Only one of us is qualified to diagnose that, and she vehemently protests."

"I'm sure sure she do _aah!_ " Her reply turns into a moan as Shaw's hands find Elizabeth's breasts, her thumbs teasing the pebbled nipples.

"Good little schoolgirls don't talk back," Shaw says, grinning. "They listen to the teacher and do whatever the teacher says."

"So you're the teacher?" Elizabeth says.

Shaw gives her a playful little swat on the ass. Elizabeth squeaks in surprise.

"Quiet, little girl," Shaw says, rubbing the spot where her hand made contact. "Teacher is talking."

Elizabeth snickers but keeps her mouth shut.

"That's better," Shaw says. "Now, you've been an awfully good girl the past few days." Shaw runs her hands over Elizabeth's stomach. "Professor Shaw's gonna give you a grade to match."

Shaw takes her time; there's no pressure. Finch has practically guaranteed that the entire day is theirs, and Shaw is going to take advantage of that. Her hands roam. She's intimately familiar with every landmark of Elizabeth's body, of course; everything from the cluster of freckles on the base of Elizabeth's neck to the uneven birthmark on her inner thigh, from the long, thin scar on the outside of her right leg to the defiant streak of bright ginger through her bush. But familiarity does little to reduce the excitement of rediscovery. Shaw patiently traces her way between the landmarks, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles in her wake as she gradually spirals in towards Elizabeth's nethers.

By the time Shaw's fingers finally brush against Elizabeth's pussy, they come away damp.

"Excited, are we?" Shaw says. Her fingers travel up and down Elizabeth's lips before parting them. "What a good little schoolgirl. So eager to learn."

"That's 'cause I have such a sexy teacher," Elizabeth says breathlessly. She makes a strangled grunt of pleasure as Shaw's fingers dance.

"You've got the hots for your teacher?" Shaw asks.

"You bet," Elizabeth says.

"Dirty little girl," Shaw says approvingly. Her fingers quicken, moving in little circles, and Elizabeth cants her hips towards Shaw's touch. "Tell your teacher how hot she is."

(Shaw hopes the demand will jump-start Elizabeth's imagination, keeping her mind off the darkness. It has nothing to do with vanity or anything of the sort. Honestly.)

"She's _sexy_ ," Elizabeth breathes. "She's like a panther, all strong and muscular— _oaah!_ " She gasps as Shaw's free hand migrates up to Elizabeth's breasts to play with her nipples. "S-strong and s-sleek, and s-she's got an _awesome_ ass—"

"Damn straight," Shaw says.

"—and—and she's really smart and kinda bossy, like, she's got this look that makes people _hnnnnng_ more, _more_ please _—"_

(Shaw teases one of her fingers inside Elizabeth.)

"You like the bossy?" Shaw says, wiggling her finger. "Does it turn you on?"

"Yes," Elizabeth breathes. "Mmmm, yes—"

"You like it when I'm in control?"

"Hnnnng, yes, _please_ —"

"Please what?" Shaw says. "Tell your teacher what you want."

"I want you to fuck me," Elizabeth gasps.

"I didn't hear that," Shaw says.

"I need you to fuck me! Please, Shaw—"

" _Professor_ Shaw."

"Please, Professor Shaw," Elizabeth begs. "Please fuck me!"

"I can do that," Shaw says. She removes her finger, eliciting a disappointed moan from Elizabeth. "You just stay right here for a moment."

She crawls over to the nightstand and pulls open the middle drawer. She does it slowly, giving Elizabeth plenty of time to hear it sliding open, before she rummages around inside.

"Hmm," she says. "Maybe we should use—no, not that one. What if we—nah—" She spots the item she's looking for immediately, but she stalls for a few seconds more, letting Elizabeth wonder which toy she's chosen, before pulling out one of Elizabeth's favorite vibrators: a cordless vibrating wand. It's slightly smaller than its mains-powered ancestors, easier to grip, but its size belies its power. Shaw clicks the wand on low. Elizabeth stills when she hears the quiet buzz and a smile begins to spread across her face. Shaw waves the wand back and forth through the air, teasingly, knowing that Elizabeth is tracking it by its sound.

"Still doing alright?" Shaw says. Elizabeth nods. "Yes, Professor Shaw," she says.

"I think you're doing great," Shaw says. "You're being a very brave girl. I think you deserve a toy for that."

Shaw brushes the head of the wand against Elizabeth's thigh. Elizabeth gasps, startled by the unexpected contact. Shaw does it again, edging the wand closer and closer to Elizabeth's pussy, and the third time she touches the purring device between Elizabeth's legs, drawing it upward. Elizabeth's entire body jerks, but she moans and spreads her legs further, eager for more. Shaw does it again, moving the wand in tight circles for a little longer before she takes it away a second time, leaving Elizabeth to groan and clench her fists in frustration.

Shaw teases Elizabeth with the wand, keeping it in contact with her body for only a few seconds at a time before withdrawing it. She keeps the interval random, unpredictable; denied the use of her eyes, Elizabeth has no way of telling when Shaw is about to touch her with the vibrator again, and during each pause, Elizabeth's frame is etched with anticipation.

" _Please_ ," Elizabeth begs. She struggles to raise her hips, hoping to meet a toy that just isn't there anymore. "Longer!"

"You want longer?" Shaw asks. "Sure, I guess can give you longer." She clicks the switch on the vibrator and the buzzing gets louder. Elizabeth cries out, her mouth agape, when Shaw presses the vibrator against her clit.

"Oh god," she gasps. "Oh fuck—"

"Good schoolgirls get rewarded," Shaw purrs. With her free hand, she easily slides two fingers inside Elizabeth, whose moans and gasps are becoming more guttural by the second.

" _Fuck—_ god, yes, _fucknnnnggggg—"_

Shaw is a master. (That's not bragging or anything. It's just a fact.) She knows the best ways to pleasure, the best places to apply pressure, to rub and kneed and bite and lick. She knows how to keep someone on edge for hours (much to Elizabeth's occasional consternation), and she knows how to prolong the pleasure until it's almost too much to bear. Elizabeth's body is a familiar, well-played instrument to Shaw; she knows what Elizabeth wants, what gets her going, and she knows _exactly_ how to give it to her. Shaw's fingers move rapidly, hitting all the right spots, and when combined with the steady thrum of the vibrator, it doesn't take long for Elizabeth to get the release she craves.

Elizabeth's climax is heralded by a long, wavering moan that cuts off abruptly. Her body arches off the bed. She holds that position, every muscle quivering, her body wrought with tension, until she collapses. Shaw keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against Elizabeth's body the entire time and doesn't let up with her fingers. Soon, Elizabeth is writhing.

"Uh-uh," Shaw says, withdrawing her fingers and grabbing Elizabeth's thigh to keep her from rolling away from the vibrator. "You're not through yet."

Elizabeth's response is a shaky moan. Her fists are clenched around wads of sheets and she continues to squirm, gasping out nonsensical syllables the entire time.

" _God_ —!" Shaw makes out. "Fffffuugggh _more_!"

Shaw obliges, kicking the speed of the vibrator up a notch.

It's very fortunate that there's no neighbors around.

Shaw makes Elizabeth come again, and again, and then one more time for good measure before she clicks off the wand and sets it aside. It takes a minute or two, but Elizabeth's gasps and moans gradually taper off and she relaxes; her hands unclench the sheets and the tension drains from her body. Shaw rubs her thighs and says, "How are you doing?"

"Over the moon," Elizabeth gasps. "That was great."

"I'm gonna take off the blindfold now," Shaw says. She crawls up and carefully peels away the mask, dropping it onto the pillow. Elizabeth blinks and winces at the light. Her pupils are huge.

"Welcome back," Shaw says.

Elizabeth stares at her.

"Who are you?" she says, and for a second, Shaw is wondering what the hell is going on, but then she sees the grin pulling at the corners of Elizabeth's mouth as she tries and fails to keep a straight face.

"Nice try," Shaw says, sticking out her tongue.

"Darn, I really thought I had a Spock face that time."

Shaw snorts and crawls off the bed. "I'll be right back," she says. "I'll get us some water." She heads to the bathroom and returns with two paper cups. Elizabeth downs her drink in two gulps and lays back against the sheets, her body relaxed and languid. Shaw joins her.

"How was the blindfold?" she asks.

"It was fun," Elizabeth says. "After awhile, I didn't even realize I was blindfolded."

"I was being kinda distracting," Shaw points out. Elizabeth chuckles.

They fall silent and Shaw notices just how quiet the room is.

"The record stopped," she realizes.

"I didn't even notice it was playing," Elizabeth says.

"Hang on, I'll flip it." Shaw sits up, but a hand clamps down on her shoulder and yanks her back down to the sheets.

"—what—"

Elizabeth moves fast; somehow, she ends up on top of Shaw, straddling her chest and pinning her down to the bed. Shaw knows from experience that Elizabeth is next to impossible to dislodge from that position—not that she tries very hard.

" _I'll_ get the record," Elizabeth says. She grins, drops the blindfold on Shaw's chest, and says, "It's your turn now. I expect it to be on your face by the time I get back."

"The student has become the teacher, eh?" Shaw says as Elizabeth jumps off the bed. "I can live with that." Which is an understatement, because one of the few things that turns her on more than Elizabeth in knee socks or Elizabeth tied up—or better yet, Elizabeth in knee socks _and_ tied up—is Elizabeth firmly in control.

Shaw doesn't see it very often, but Elizabeth in full-on Domme mode is _hot._

"No backtalk," Elizabeth says sternly over her shoulder. She's doing that thing where she arches one eyebrow and it ignites a spark of thrill between Shaw's legs _._ Elizabeth's face is the last thing Shaw sees before she ties the blindfold around her own head and lays back in bed to await her fate.

She hears the rattle of buckles, and she smiles.

"Well, Miss Shaw," Elizabeth says from somewhere to Shaw's left. (Shaw digs the way she rolls the double-s into a z, kinda like Finch does, but sexy.) Elizabeth tsks. "Your grades have been absolutely _abysmal_ this quarter. What do you have to say for yourself...?"

She doesn't have much to say at all.

#####

Two days later, late at night, a blown substation transformer cuts power to the office building where they're searching for their latest Number

Elizabeth yelps and moves closer to Shaw as the office lights overhead flicker and die, leaving only a few scattered emergency lights to illuminate the cubicles.

"Woah, hey," Shaw says, grabbing Elizabeth's shoulder with one hand, the other still clenched around the grip of her pistol. "Hang in there. You okay?"

Elizabeth shudders, takes a deep breath, and says, "Yeah. Yeah, I got this." She reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls out a compact flashlight. She clicks it on and gives Shaw a tight smile. "I'm fine."

"Atta girl," Shaw says, and they head on into the darkness.

#####

 _A/N Well, there we go, I finally finished it! The chapter didn't go in the direction I was intending it to go but I think it turned out okay anyway. Next up, Feature Creep!_


End file.
